mad girl

ko-fi

andrea - 29 - white - any pronouns - bi (kinsey 5) - brazil - autistic - disabled

*~no minors please~*

previously wargelf, bihyuuga & femalenacho

i hit men with the lesbification beam

naruto, better call saul, iasip, death note, pokemon, mob psycho 100, hunter x hunter, overwatch, khr, one piece, jjk, the pitt

nsfw fic for sale under the cut

@kingdonmicrofic day three: gala- 467 words - established relationship, discussion of addiction

Historically, Frank has liked parties. He’s a fun-loving, gregarious guy. He’s always known how to make people laugh and how to pick up chicks. The great irony of it all, however, is that he never really enjoyed binge drinking or hard drugs. He’d smoke weed in college—him, and everybody else in the United States of America—and enjoyed some shots here and there, but he’d never needed to get blackout drunk to enjoy himself, never done it much beyond a few bachelor’s parties and undergraduate benders. Then he grew up, got married, had kids got his shit together, got an amazing career, and after all that, became an addict.

He’s staring at himself in the mirror, ostensibly trying to tie a bowtie and instead ruminating about this. It goes around and around in his head like some sort of fucked-up funhouse carousel.

Mel, with her rabbit-like senses, seems to have heard the heavy pause. She comes in behind him, taking the limp bowtie from his hand so she can tie it herself. Her hands are smooth and cool, little brushes bringing goosebumps on his freshly shaven neck.

“I don’t think I like parties anymore,” Frank says, barely a whisper, feeling like he’s confessing to something great and terrible. He realizes his hand is shaking, his fingers twitching. This is a habit that he’s slowly cultivated over the course of his sobriety. Every neurologist and psychiatrist he’s seen about it has given the same diagnosis: possibly a side effect of his ADHD meds, more likely a manifestation of latent anxiety. He knows the latter is true, knows that his hands never shake when he’s deep in someone’s chest squeezing their heart back to life or stitching up a teenager’s slashed wrists.

“That’s okay,” Mel assures him. She gives a final tweak to the bowtie, then touches his shoulder. “I never liked them at all.”

“We’re becoming shut-ins,” Frank says, although that’s not true. They have plenty of outdoor hobbies, go to museums and festivals, take long walks through city parks. When you spend several more-than-twelve-hour-shifts a week inside a hospital, you tend to want to get outside afterwards. Frank is still a gregarious, fun-loving guy, although nowadays it takes the shape of bringing Tanner and Penny to splash pads, hiking to birdwatch with Mel, and getting ice cream from walk-up ice cream parlors with Becca.

Mel makes a noncommittal noise and leans up to kiss his cheek, still so much shorter than him in her sensible heels.